


Poem (Some Superior Echelon)

by PurpleProsaist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crying During Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, No Smut, Pillow Talk, Post-Quest, Purple Prose, Sleepy Cuddles, post-sex cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:16:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleProsaist/pseuds/PurpleProsaist
Summary: Long ago, Frodo might have thought this merely an endearingly maudlin take on sex. Now, he can only sigh his agreement as the gravity of the compliment rushes the breath from his lungs. Samwise, himself an epitome of the beauty of that which is worldly, had once mused to him a yen to plant his own feet in some good earth and allow his toes to curl into roots.





	Poem (Some Superior Echelon)

Frodo shifts in Sam's arms — a small motion which really should not be such a belabored effort nor leave him gasping for breath all over again, but he is still spent. It takes him a moment, but as soon as they face each other, Frodo's lips find Sam's wettened face with a second-natured inevitability. He kisses up the tear-stream, revelling in the saltwater taste of home as Sam's shaking arms resettle about him. 

He almost always cries. He is almost always left trembling. 

The first time, it had somewhat concerned Frodo, even though he had always known Sam to wear his heart upon his cheeks. "Love tears," Sam had deemed them reassuringly, and so then (also for the first time) Frodo had kissed them away. 

Frodo strays towards Sam's earlobe now to mumble, "How many times have we done this now?; still you're shaking." 

"It's..." Sam so softly gasps to explain, his exhaustion audible, "Oh, it's... Sometimes it's like I can feel your soul, and 'tis a bliss and light beyond anything of this world." 

Long ago, Frodo might have thought this merely an endearingly maudlin take on sex. Now, he can only sigh his agreement as the gravity of the compliment rushes the breath from his lungs. Samwise, himself an epitome of the beauty of that which is worldly, had once mused to him a yen to plant his feet in good earth and allow his toes to curl into roots. 

Sam had been but a tween then, and though the actual location was no different, Frodo had been living in a different Shire then, breathing a different air than what remains for him now. Even so long ago, however, Frodo had already known Sam well enough to find the comment both entirely expected and unexpected. 

It had not always been romantic nor sexual in nature, but on some superior echelon of simple admiration and togetherness, of friendship and family and true-hearted affection, Frodo had been in love with Samwise since the moment they had met. 

"I can't imagine my soul could be anything grander than yours, Sam-dear." Frodo returns to his ministrations, meticulously nuzzling Sam's face as dry as possible, then hides in the warmth of his pulse and says, "You're more poetic than you give yourself credit for." 

Sleep grows heavier still upon Sam's voice as he responds, "'Cause I speak about souls?'Tain't enough to make me no poet. Didn't put it pretty-like; I'm jus' telling the truth." There's a light bumping of knees, and then their legs are loosely twined. They're an enmeshed heap, and Frodo is enveloped in the sensation of Sam's nudity — heat and hair and bare skin — from nose to feet. 

"Fine, if you say..." Frodo yawns against his neck — slides his hand smoothly up Sam's spine — weakly attempting an air of finality as sleep overcomes him as well, "Then you are the poem." 

He thinks he has succeeded for only a few seconds. Then Sam's throat rumbles, fainter than even the rustle of leaves from outside: "Mmmdred twenty-nine." 

"Mph... Sorry?" 

"A hundred an' twenty-nine times now." 

"Oh, go to sleep, sweeting."

**Author's Note:**

> High drabble outta the blue. Not my best stuff, but... who cares? 
> 
> As someone who likes the concept of ships having sex mainly for the emotional aspect of it, I kinda have this odd obsession with fics that pick up immediately AFTER the sex just because it seems no one ever does that. The usual formula makes a resolution or a falling action outta a climax, doesn't it? I opted more for pointless family-nonfriendly, cliché, syrupy sap that still doesn't offer the satisfaction of any get-offability. You're welcome.


End file.
